Page 3 of A Fire in Their Hearts

A NEARBY FARMER HAS OFFERED TO let the Reverend Colvil and his family stay in his large barn, which is currently free of animals.

Although it’s not ideal, it solves the immediate problem of where to spend their nights.

This evening, they join us for our meal and we sit around the heavy oak table, as we’ve done on many occasions, for the minister and my father have been close friends for years.

‘The barn is big enough to hold my sermons in, and this new law only prevents me from preaching in the kirk,’ says Samuel’s father, his face animated as he explains his plan to us.

‘It also resulted in us being thrown out of the manse,’ remarks Samuel’s mother, who is stoic, practical and loyal, a combination of characteristics I’m beginning to think all wives need to have amongst a huge list of other requirements.

‘Yes, my dear, that is true. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, it’s not your fault, Andrew. I blame King Charles .?.?. only within these walls, of course.’

‘I believe most of the congregation will follow us,’ he says.

‘That will leave the kirk rather empty,’ adds my own father, ‘which is a situation the authorities won’t allow to continue. I assume they’ll appoint a minister willing to obey the new bishop and everyone will be expected to attend his Sunday services.’

‘I gather they’ve already named my replacement,’ says Reverend Colvil. ‘Some curate I’ve not heard of, who’s been brought in from outside the area.’

‘There’ll be more conflict ahead over this,’ says my mother. ‘Don’t hog the game pie, Hamish.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Pass it around.’

‘It just happens to be in front of me!’

With rather bad grace, Hamish pushes the large dish along the table.

‘Why has the king thrown us out?’ asks Calum, who has grown up in the manse and known no other home. ‘Does he hate us?’

‘The king doesn’t actually know us,’ says Hamish.

The Reverend Colvil nods gravely. ‘That’s true, though it doesn’t stop him from hating us.’

‘Why?’ asks Calum.

There is a brief pause. It’s only right that the minister answers the question, and I can almost see a long explanation forming in his mind.

‘Don’t give the boy a sermon, Andrew,’ warns Samuel’s mother quietly.

His kindly smile reveals he was indeed about to do that very thing, and in that brief gesture I see something of the younger man, before he was ‘meant to be dour’.

‘The Church of Scotland is Presbyterian, which means we have little hierarchy: there are no people above the ministers, elders or the congregation telling them how to worship. We believe that the head of the Kirk is Jesus, and we follow those teachings as given to us in the Scriptures.’

He waits for young Calum to nod that he understands before continuing. Around the table, all is quiet as the reverend speaks; even sounds of chewing and cutlery scraping against plates are dulled as his voice fills the room.

‘King Charles, and his father before him, believes that he should be the head of the Church of Scotland and that he has the right to reintroduce a hierarchy of bishops with wider powers who can order everyone to worship in a way that is not our tradition. It’s the way of Episcopalians or Anglicans in England. ’

‘He wants to make things simple for himself, with a similar styled church throughout the entire kingdom,’ adds Mrs Colvil.

‘That’s what lay behind the introduction of Archbishop Laud’s Book of Common Prayer all those many years ago, trying to force English ways of worship on Scottish people without our General Assembly having any say in the matter whatsoever! ’

‘Now the king insists that ministers have to be approved by the local laird and the bishop,’ says Samuel. ‘Isn’t that right, Father?’

‘And they have to swear an oath,’ chimes in Hamish, keen to demonstrate his own understanding of the situation.

‘You’re both correct. Calum, it’s important to understand it was only with the help of Covenanters that Oliver Cromwell won against King Charles I, and later on it was only with the aid of Covenanters that King Charles II won back his crown.’

‘We fought on both sides?’ asks Calum in surprise.

The reverend nods sombrely. ‘Yes, and they both betrayed us, promising to make Presbyterianism the recognised religion when they needed fighting men, only to break their promises once they were in power.’

‘Sadly it’s so often the case that power and honour are strangers,’ agrees my father.

‘Is the king going to send more bad men?’ asks Calum, his voice quivering.

As I’m sitting next to him, I gently take his arm and move him onto my knee, hugging him close. I could not bear it if anything happened to him.

‘I can’t promise you that, son. He’s given orders to his army to evict .?.?. throw out .?.?. Scottish ministers who will not agree to his demands, even those who are happy to swear loyalty to him as the monarch.’

‘As we are,’ adds my father. ‘That’s never been an issue with the majority of Covenanters. During my travels around the world, I’ve encountered many different cultures and religions and have enjoyed conversations with extremely learned men about their beliefs.

‘Some were pretty lively discussions, yet in every instance we each respected the other’s right to hold that alternative view.

In fact, I was often shown the greatest hospitality by those I had just had the greatest theological arguments with.

It’s when I come home to Scotland that I end up fearing for my safety, and that of my family. ’

‘There is only one God and one way to worship Him, Douglas,’ says the Reverend Colvil. ‘And these new bishops don’t even pretend to be pious. They’re powerful men who will use their position in the Church to their own advantage.’

‘Of course, Andrew. I was only pointing out how I’ve encountered tolerance amongst religions completely at odds with our own.’

‘State and Kirk should remain separate.’

‘We’re in complete agreement on this, yet we surely cannot take away from others their right to worship as they wish when freedom from oppression is the very thing that Covenanters are fighting for.’

An uncomfortable silence descends around the table.

Father has raised an important issue for which there doesn’t seem to be an answer.

I love the Reverend Colvil like a second father, but if given the chance he would have the entire world Presbyterian, regardless of cultures and religions.

He probably thinks the Pope should be converted and would no doubt be off to Italy on the first ship available if he thought there was a possibility.

He’ll accept no middle ground on which those with different opinions could meet to debate.

The old friends are entrenched in their views and stare at each other across the game pie, which might as well be a mountain of rock, such is the division between them on this point.

Eventually, it’s my mother who breaks the deadlock. Without me realising, Calum has fallen asleep in my arms.

‘You have a tired boy there, Violet. You’re welcome to leave Calum here, Ellen. His presence overnight will not put anyone at risk.’

‘Thank you, Isabel. I think that would be most helpful.’

It wouldn’t be the first time that Calum has remained in our house rather than the Reverend Colvil having to carry him home.

If soldiers come knocking on our door in the morning, no one will bother about a small boy, but the truth is that if Samuel and his parents stayed, they might put us in danger.

The suggestion is agreed upon and our meal brought to an early end by the tension in the room. As some of us clear away and others get ready to leave, Samuel and I offer to check that the animals and hens are all right. I suspect nobody believes for an instant this is why we’re going outside.

‘That was awful,’ I say, once we’re out of hearing.

Samuel exhales loudly. ‘You can say that again. Of course, my father is right.’

‘Well .?.?.’

‘What?’

‘I would say that my father is right, but I’m not going to fall out with you on this, Samuel.’

‘But this is not a point for debate, Violet! You either believe in God or you don’t, and if you do then you acknowledge there is only one God and one way to worship Him.’

He’s frowning, which is normally a bad sign, but I’m not backing down in my opinion or my own right to hold an opinion, despite being a girl and what others think, including my twin brother.

‘What about people with different beliefs, like all of those that my father met on his travels?’

‘They’re wrong!’

‘All of them!’ I say, raising my eyebrows at him. ‘Everyone in the entire world?’

‘Yes.’

I take a huge breath to release some of the tension I can feel building up inside me. ‘All right. As I believe in God as you do, I’ll agree with you that they’re wrong, but they still have a right to be wrong. That’s their choice.’

‘That just doesn’t make sense.’

‘Didn’t the Lord Himself give us choice?’

‘They need to be shown the correct way and if you don’t agree with that then I don’t see how you can truly—’

‘Be careful what you say, Samuel.’

We fall silent as he paces around angrily, before coming back to face me. He’s still frowning.

‘Don’t mutter, Samuel, it’s annoying.’

‘You either believe or you don’t believe.’

‘I believe as much as you do, as well as in the Covenanters’ fight to free the Kirk from the king’s control, and don’t you ever dare imply otherwise. And stop frowning!’

‘Well, if I’m frowning, your eyebrows look like .?.?.’

‘What?’

‘Like .?.?. caterpillars!’

‘Caterpillars!’

‘Yes, black, bushy ones that have almost disappeared under your hair.’

I’m on the verge of .?.?. well, I don’t know what, when Samuel bends over, suddenly helpless with laughter. I try to hold on to my anger, but it evaporates like a thin mist under a hot sun. I never could stay angry with him for long.

‘I’ll give you caterpillars,’ I threaten.

‘No, don’t, they tickle.’

He takes me in his arms and for a few moments I stand stiffly, but I soon put my arms around his waist. He kisses my eyebrows.

‘Sorry,’ he says quietly.

I pretend not to have heard properly. ‘What did you say?’

‘SORRY.’

‘I’m sorry too.’ We pull apart to gaze at each other. ‘Samuel, we must never let anything come between us. Promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Then so do I.’

We hold each other again, tightly. I have no concerns about us. But when I think of dinner and the rift that so easily raised its ugly head across the table between old friends, a seed of fear plants itself in my heart and immediately begins to grow.